Chapter 2
TWO
NOLAN
Pain is the first thing I feel. A deep, aching throb that lives in my bones and breathes with me. Weakness is the second. It makes the simple act of breathing feel like a task I'm not up for.
My eyes crack open to low light and stone ceilings. The infirmary.
I try to sit up, but the second I move, a spike of pain shoots through my side and burrows under my ribs. My breath catches. Everything feels…off.
My limbs are heavy, my magic flickers when I reach for it—dim and distant. As though something else is layered on top of it preventing me from touching it.
I shift again, slower this time, and catch sight of the gauze wrapping my wrists and hands. Bloodstained. What the hell happened to me?
No—what happened to her?
Memory slams into me.
The Veil breach. Lindsay in the center of it. Light and chaos and power tearing out of her like a living nightmare, channeling through me, making mine stronger than it has ever been. The way the magic pulled—not just out, but in, as if it was choosing her for something big.
I exhale shakily.
I already knew it, but she’s not just human. Not anymore. Maybe she never was. There has never been a record of a mortal having the kind of power she has. Sure, there are a few that have distant Fae, Fang, Bone, or Blood in their family tree and it breaks through, but this is more. Different.
“You’re awake,” Tamsin says from somewhere to my right. She doesn’t sound surprised. “Took you long enough.”
I glance over. She’s curled in a chair beside my bed, legs pulled up, a half-empty coffee mug in her hands. Her braid is a mess, and there’s a faint cut healing along her collarbone.
“How long?” I ask, voice hoarse.
“Almost a day and a half,” she replies. “They thought your magic might not stabilize.”
“It doesn’t feel stable now.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
I flex my fingers, wincing as pain ripples down my bandaged wrist. There’s something beneath the pain though. Something…warm. Buzzing faintly, like a thread caught in my bloodstream. It feels foreign and familiar at the same time.
“What happened to my—” I lift my wrist and frown. “Why’s this wrapped?”
Tamsin shifts, suddenly interested in the inside of her mug. “You were holding her hand when everything exploded. Got burned. Matron Cray said you were lucky it wasn’t worse.”
But it doesn’t feel like a burn. Not entirely.
It feels like a thread I can’t see, tugging quietly beneath my skin. Centering somewhere just out of reach.
“Lindsay?”
“Still out,” she says. “She’s…glowing less now. They think the worst is over, but no one’s really sure. Matron Cray says her mind is still not here, and I'm more likely to trust her than any other healer.”
I push myself upright, ignoring the way the room tilts and the bandages pull tight against my skin. Or the stabbing pain centered in my ribcage.
“Careful,” Tamsin warns, but I’m already turning my head, scanning the room.
And then I see her.
Lindsay.
She’s stretched out on the cot across from mine, a shimmer of barely-there magic rippling over her skin like smoke trapped beneath glass.
Her hair spills across the pillow in tangled waves, dark lashes resting on too-pale cheeks.
There’s a stillness to her—too deep, too unnatural.
Like even her dreams have been silenced.
Something in my chest lurches painfully.
She looks breakable.
And she’s never looked breakable before.
“Lindsay,” I breathe, already trying to stand. My legs hit the floor, barely holding my weight. I take one step. Then another.
Then the world blurs sideways.
Strong hands catch me before I can hit the stone.
“For fuck’s sake,” Tamsin mutters, arms bracing around my torso as she drags me half-upright again. “What part of you were out for a day and a half didn’t you understand?”
I groan, breath shallow, vision swimming. “I just…I needed to see her.”
“You were seeing her,” she snaps. “From a perfectly safe distance. One that didn’t require you face-planting like a lovesick idiot.”
But her grip is steady, even as she lowers me carefully back onto the bed. Her eyes flick once toward Lindsay, and I swear even her face softens. She’s worried too.
“She’s still fighting,” she says, quieter now. “You don’t have to bleed trying to do it for her.”
I let my head fall back against the pillow, chest heaving, every breath dragging guilt and fear up from my ribs. Because no matter what the healers say…it feels like all of this is just beginning, and Lindsay’s the key to it all.
And whatever connection that formed between us out in that courtyard, it hasn’t let go. I press a hand to my ribs, trying to slow my breathing. Everything feels…wrong. Unsettled.
But not just in me.
Around me. The air is different.
Something’s humming beneath the noise of the infirmary. Not a sound exactly, more like a constant pressure. A vibration. It pulls at my senses, a flicker of gold catching at the edge of my vision. I turn my head. And freeze.
There—stretching from Lindsay’s chest to Raiden’s bed—is a line of light. A thin thread of gold.
Faint. Unsteady. Fraying at the edges like a wire that’s been overcharged. The golden tether pulses once—twice—before dimming again, but it’s there. Real.
Magic.
I blink hard, but it doesn’t vanish. How am I seeing the Veilbind between them?
“What the hell…” I whisper, breath caught in my throat, as I try to sit up fully again, my hand reaching for my glasses so I can see clearly.
“What now?” Tamsin mutters, eyeing me warily as if I’m two seconds from trying to get up and walk again.
“You don’t see that?” I gesture weakly between the two beds.
“See what?”
I swallow, unsure how to even explain it. “There’s…something glowing. Magic. Between her and Raiden. Golden, and it’s—it’s damaged. Like it’s barely holding on.”
Tamsin’s brows knit together, skepticism flashing across her face. “You hit your head harder than they thought, huh?”
“I’m serious. I think it’s their tether.”
She glances toward Lindsay and then toward Raiden’s unmoving form. “Tethers are personal, Nolan. You can’t see them unless they’re yours—and even then, only if the bond is strong enough. That’s basic arcane theory.”
“I know that,” I snap, though the room spins again with the effort. “But I see it. Right now.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, setting her mug back down. “Humor me. What does it look like?”
“Gold,” I murmur. “Frayed at the edges. Flickering like it’s about to break. But not broken. Still holding on.”
Tamsin looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “That’s not possible. You're still out of it.”
And yet it is. Because it’s right there.
I stare at the tether, at the way it pulses with every shallow breath Lindsay takes.
The golden light flickers faintly in the ward-glow, dancing across the stone floor between her bed and Raiden’s.
It casts soft, strange shadows on the sheets, like it’s alive and struggling to stay tethered to both of them.
My gaze shifts.
Raiden lies on the far bed, half-curled and tense even in unconsciousness.
One of his tails twitches, then another, sparks snapping in the air like distant lightning.
The air smells faintly of ozone and singed fabric.
His chest rises and falls in a shallow, uneven rhythm—magic crackling through him like it’s waiting for something to strike.
“Has he woken up?”
Tamsin follows my gaze as she picks up her mug again and takes a sip before putting it back down. The clink echoes a little too loudly in the quiet. “No. The only one that came out of it quickly was Kael.”
The name makes something coil tight in my stomach.
“Where is he?”
She shrugs, but there’s an edge in her voice. “He left. After he stood next to Lindsay’s bed like he was debating whether or not to kidnap her. I was ready to stop him, though.”
“I don’t trust him,” I mutter.
Tamsin snorts. “Good. You shouldn’t. He’s a demon prince; they aren't really known for their trustworthiness.”
“But he helped us. When it counted.”
“Even monsters have soft spots,” she says, quieter now. “Doesn’t mean they won’t still bite.”
I glance back toward Lindsay.
The bed she lies on is surrounded by softly humming runes, etched into the floor and stone like protective barriers. Her blanket is twisted from where she must’ve thrashed before this stillness took over, and the pillow beneath her looks like it’s been replaced at least once.
Beyond her, a healer moves slowly between the beds of other injured students, adjusting a glowing orb that’s keeping the room warm despite the chill creeping in through the stone walls.
The scent of healing salves and copper hangs thick in the air, laced with something sourer—burned magic that hasn’t fully cleared.
If Kael has a soft spot, it’s probably Lindsay.
It’s not like I haven’t seen it—the way he watched her before she even noticed him at the revel, standing in the shadows of the courtyard. I might not trust him to have my back…
But I could probably trust him with her.
“You’re thinking too loudly. You can’t save anyone if you don’t heal up,” Tamsin says, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. “So lay back and rest.”